


I'd Never Admit It

by aquietdin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Lance cusses a lot in his head, M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, One Shot, Pining Lance (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 11:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18030953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquietdin/pseuds/aquietdin
Summary: “Anyone ever tell you that you got a real nice ass?”That finally got a reaction. The Blade whipped his head around to Lance, his hood rustling with the motion, and Lance could’ve sworn he saw shock in that stoic, motionless mask. He giggled.“Don’t… don’t gimme that look. S’true.”-------Or: Lance gets injured and flirts with a mysterious Blade of Marmora agent while high on sedatives.





	I'd Never Admit It

**Author's Note:**

> I will never tire of the "Lance doesn't realize who he's flirting with" trope.
> 
> I love feedback :D

He should have known this was how it would end up.

The whole thing stank from minute one and Lance, knew, he _knew_ that it would all go to shit and end up with one of them maimed or worse. He’d called it on the bridge but Shiro had given him _that look_ and Allura went into battle mode and that was that.

Daring a look at his arm, he sort of wish he’d hadn’t. The shrapnel was still embedded in his bicep, perfectly cutting a hole through his flight suit just above where his armor stopped. Of course. It couldn’t have hit him a half inch lower and bounced off, that would have been too easy. Now he was stuck on some godforsaken alien planet with almost no oxygen in the air, the jungle around him crawling, moving, bugs and who knows what else skittering everywhere and he was probably going to get a horrific infection and lose his arm.

His right arm, too. Damn. He’d have to teach his left how to write cursive. His back slid down the side of a tree as he came to a squat under it, clutching the wound that was still steadily bleeding. It was _so hot_ here and he couldn’t breathe and his head was pounding, his brain beating against his skull like it was trying to escape. He felt the side of his helmet, noting the dent in the left side. Oh _good,_ a concussion on top of everything else. No wonder he felt like shit.

“Lance.” Shiro’s voice was far too loud in his earpiece, making him wince. “Our backup is here, Blade of Marmora agents are searching for you now.”

“Good,” he replied, knowing how pissed off he sounded and not caring. “Kinda need a little help.”

“Hang in there, Lance.”

He really wanted to punch something.

Shiro had been different since he came back. His fuse a little shorter, his words more clipped. His eyes had a completely different shine to them. Lance sighed, letting his helmet thump against the tree he was leaning on. Guess round two of being a Galra prisoner must’ve broken something in him, whatever it was falling away and staying behind. Shiro probably needed therapy. Hell, after this, they were _all_ going to need it.

A wave of vertigo hit him and Lance hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. He was losing blood. Not enough to go into shock, but enough that it was starting to make him woozy. Another hour and he might pass out. He was shit at giving blood, unbothered by needles but always the first to lose consciousness as soon as the blood bag was half full. Rachel teased him about it endlessly.

Memories of home hit him and Lance ached. He wanted his mom. His dad. His brothers and sister and everyone. He wanted to go home. See them. Let them know he was safe.

He missed Keith.

Sure, Keith hadn’t been the best leader but he was _trying,_ he was learning. And it was kind of inspiring when Lance admitted it, seeing him step up and take command. It made Keith look a little taller, a little broader. Lance started to see exactly what Shiro must have seen in him, seeping through his bad boy facade and shining in the cracks, like a tiny star just beginning to twinkle at sunset.

He groaned, his arm throbbing. Great, he was getting poetic. He was definitely going to die here.

The bushes near him rustled and Lance summoned his bayard in his left hand. His accuracy would be a fraction of what it usually was, but it was better than nothing. Red was miles away - he’d tried reaching out to her with his mind, but the pain in his skull clouded everything and made it impossible to connect. It was so hot.

Fine. If he was going to die, he was going to make whatever attacked him sorely regret it.

More rustling, then footsteps, almost silent. His breathing quickened. His finger coiled around the trigger of his rifle.

Something rounded the tree and Lance popped off two shots in quick succession, missing by a wide margin before his gun was shoved to the side.

A pair of glowing purple eyes stared down at him, surrounded by a hood. The armor was familiar, black and grey and dotted with leaves and mud. A Blade of Marmora agent. Lance could have screamed with relief, dropping his bayard immediately.

“Sorry,” he wheezed, letting his back fall against the tree. His head hurt.

Hands were under his left arm, hauling him up. He was suddenly so, so tired.

“I have the Blue Paladin,” Lance thought he heard. “Can you walk?”

He nodded. Or tried to. That voice sounded vaguely familiar through the distortion of the mask.

The agent set a quick pace, rushing through the underbrush. Lance caught glimpses of it, yellow leaves and purple moss. His legs felt like they were full of wet sand.

“Stay with me.”

“Trying,” Lance wheezed out.

More scenery blinked by. Then he was set down, the surface below him hard and cold. The hum of an engine was nearby. Someone was talking, but he couldn’t understand, like his ears were plugged. Lance fumbled with the seals on his helmet before finally ripping it off his head, taking in giant lungfuls of cool but acrid air. It felt like he hadn’t breathed in years.

He fell over, slipping onto his right side and just barely managing to twist his torso enough so he didn’t land on his injured arm. God, he was tired. He needed a nap.

Someone was shaking him awake and _Jesus, fuck off, I’m tired._ A hand slapped his face lightly before a bright light shone in his eyes, making him hiss.

“No sleeping. You have a head injury. Stay awake.”

Shit. He needed to stay awake. Awake, awake. But reality was fading in and out, his chest armor disappearing from his body, sliding over his right arm and fuck, that hurt, the wound wide open and dripping blood. He gazed with morbid fascination at the piece of metal that sliced his muscles, protruding from his skin like a knife.

The blade agent was over him, that creepy mask all lit up as he began to unzip Lance’s flight suit, exposing his chest.

“Whoa, whoa,” he protested weakly. “Buy a guy dinner first-- _fuck!_ ”

The flight suit was yanked over the wound as his right arm was pulled free, and pain shot through every part of him. It felt like his whole arm was ready to fall off. Here he comes, lefty town.

The Blade agent held up a little cylinder with something blue inside it, then pressed it into the crook of Lance’s elbow. He felt a pinprick.

“Hey, what is that,” he asked. “What are you…”

Something cool washed over him, like slipping into the ocean, all soft and soothing. The pain in his arm turned from a scream to a whimper. His head went light.

“Oh,” Lance breathed. “Oh. That’s _nice._ ”

Thank god for sedatives.

He watched from somewhere across the room as the Blade agent sat beside him and draped Lance’s arm across his lap. He was looking at the wound, poking at it, then turned to grab what looked like gauze.

“This is going to hurt,” he said. Lance nodded.

He’d been given warning but Lance still choked out a scream when the shrapnel was pulled from his arm, tearing the muscle with a bright spurt of blood. His stomach turned violently. That would be the icing on the cake, really; barfing all over a complete stranger in addition to bleeding all over him. He focused on the agent, on the strong thighs his arm rested against. The curve of his stomach. Damn, those Marmora outfits were snug.

His arm was being bandaged and he felt a little less like vomiting. Something was dripping down his face - sweat? He really hoped it was sweat and not more blood.

The agent got up and walked away, setting Lance’s arm down at his side with care. He was dizzy, glancing around. A ship? Looked like the interior of a ship. How’d he get here?

“Where we goin’?” he tried to ask, not sure if the words actually came out. Everything was sort of swimming, like he was looking up from the bottom of a pool. His head hurt. Why did his head hurt again?

“Don’t talk,” the Blade told him, facing away and tapping at some panel on the other side of the small compartment they were in.

“...’scuse me,” Lance said, more certain he actually said the words this time. He was being ignored and that was so annoying. Wasn’t he dying? This guy should pay attention. But the Blade was just standing there, doing something that must have been important, all his focus on the task. Whoever he was had long legs, all nice and toned. Probably a runner. Lance grinned.

“Anyone ever tell you that you got a real nice ass?”

That finally got a reaction. The Blade whipped his head around to Lance, his hood rustling with the motion, and Lance could’ve sworn he saw shock in that stoic, motionless mask. He giggled.

“Don’t… don’t gimme that look. S’true.”

Shaking his head, the Blade returned to the panel in front of him. Could someone’s shoulders look flustered? He looked flustered. This was fun.

“Seriously, though,” his tongue felt too thick in his mouth. “Dunno if you realize, but that body of yours is a solid eleven out of ten.” And it _was,_ his eyes following the curve of the back of a thigh to his back, tight and compact. The Blade turned towards Lance and _holy hell,_ those hips. All slender and sleek. Those suits of theirs didn’t leave much to the imagination.

The Blade looked down at himself, then quickly turned away. Did Lance say that last thought out loud? Whatever. He was tired and wanted to cuddle someone and everything was all floaty and _fuck,_ he was _so high_ and he really wished this guy would say something, stop making him do all the work. Get over here and touch him. He wanted to be touched and no one was doing it. Rude.

“Strong silent type, huh?” Lance scratched at his chest, a little surprised to find it bare. Where were his clothes? “I know a guy like you, he’s more like a twelve outta ten, though.” He pictured Keith, with those tight black pants and cropped jacket like he just knew how it showed off his lower half, leaning against the wall with one hip cocked to the side. “S’got a pretty face and the most incredible legs.” Keith, with his long eyelashes and floofy hair that fell over his face just right. The stupid mullet that only he could make look good. Keith, who was like fire, burning anyone who got too close.  “He’s so fucking _hot_ and it pisses me off.”

The Blade turned his shoulders, glancing over them to where Lance was spread out on the bench. Bed. Whatever it was. And the motion was so like Keith that his chest suddenly went tight and his eyes stung, remembering how Keith’s back had looked as he walked away from them.

“But he left,” Lance whispered, a sob crawling out of his throat. “He just _left_ and it’s not fair, it’s not--” A hiccup and he covered his eyes with his left hand. “Everything was fine, we were a team again, he didn’t have to _leave--_ ”

He was crying, actually crying and god his head hurt, his arm hurt, everything hurt. Lance blubbered into his hand, tears leaking through his fingers and wetting his temples and goddammit why was he even crying? This was stupid. He wanted to go home. Something brushed his forehead, over his hair, around the top of his head. Then again. Then again, sliding through the damp strands above his ear. Lance let his hand fall away from his face, the blurry blue-gray of the Blade hovering over him.

“I miss him,” he whispered. More tears came and he couldn’t see. “I miss him _so much._ ”

There were fingers sliding through his hair and it felt nice, made the aching in his head quiet down. It was like how his mom would comfort him when he got hurt, playing with his hair and singing. He wished this guy would sing.

No songs came.

 

\-----

 

He woke up in a pod.

Or rather, right outside one, with Hunk supporting his numb legs, wrapping Lance into one of his signature hugs. It was nice and warm, cradled against the wide expanse of Hunk’s chest, his whole body still chilled through.

“What’s goin’ on?” He asked. His head was still fuzzy.

“Lance,” Hunk said against his hair and he was so glad to hear that voice. “Everything’s fine, man, you just got a little banged up.”

Hunk led him to a bench where he was given a pouch of water and something that looked vaguely like an energy bar. “What do you remember? The scans said you had a minor concussion.”

He slurped his water, thinking. It was all a glorified smudge on his memory, bleeding together. “I, uh. I took a shot to my arm, then I think…” Lance closed his eyes, concentrating. A wavy image of grey and black armor, shuffling like a mirage. “I think a Blade of Marmora agent found me?”

Hunk chewed on his own snack, nodding. “Anything else?”

“Not really,” Lance admitted. “It gets fuzzy after that.”

Hunk dropped the issue, escorting Lance to his room so he could shower and change. It wasn’t the first time he’d come away from battle with holes in his memory. Something to discuss with a future therapist.

It felt good to be back in his jeans, even if they were getting a little tight on his hips and worn at the knees. They’d all come into space with just the clothes they were wearing at the time. Hunk with his vest, Pidge with her oversized shirt, Keith with his thrift store crop jacket. It was still hanging in his room, the only evidence that he’d ever lived there at all. It seemed sad to think about it, passing Keith’s door and daring a glance at the smooth panels. Lance sighed and kept walking.

He missed Keith.

Not that he’d ever tell anyone _that_.

 


End file.
